The Beast at 1334 North Beechwood
by SmittyGirl
Summary: Peter found himself distracted by a quiet, dimly-lit tent. At one side stood an easel, holding a neatly-written, handmade sign that boasted of predictions in love, success and money…and all for only 25 cents!
1. Chapter 1

Author's notes: My brain needed a little break, so this weird idea climbed in and then this happened. I almost feel bad for doing something to Peter.

Almost. (Sorry, Peter, honey.)

* * *

Carnival season had arrived in Malibu. The night air was permeated with the smell of hot dogs and funnel cake, while the brightly-colored lights on the rides beamed out over at least a mile radius from the fairgrounds. One could almost set their watch to the screams of riders on the Sky Drop, which were always followed by giddy, adrenaline-filled laughter. The carnival was the bridge between summer and fall; a way to say goodbye to one season while welcoming another.

"I hate that I'm so lousy at these games," Peter complained, adjusting the plush tiger on his shoulder. Once the tiger was situated, he intertwined fingers with his girlfriend again.

"You know they're rigged, right?" Sugar glanced at the prize draped on Peter's shoulder and giggled. "Besides, I saw how badly you wanted that kitty, so I didn't mind gettin' him for you."

The blond ducked his head slightly, blushing and grinning. "Thanks."

"Anything for you, Shotgun." She planted a kiss on his cheek, then tugged at his arm, leading him toward the red and orange beacon of the midway. "C'mon, we oughta get in one more ride or two before the night's over!"

Still clutching tightly to the girl's hand, Peter stumbled a moment and caught up with her long strides. Walking beside her, he took in the unmistakable happiness on her face. She had come so far in just a little over a year's time, perhaps at last adjusting to what life had given her. There were times when he knew she was frustrated, but he stayed close and was as supportive as he could be, even when he didn't quite understand why Sugar could be so mad at herself.

But for now, she was happy.

He looked down at their hands, fingers still tightly looped together, and smiled. He was happy, too.

The couple rounded a corner, stepping into the midway, which even at this late hour, was still bustling with people. They passed by the milk bottle game, meriting a nasty glare from the worker running that particular hustle. Peter noticed that Sugar stood up straighter and practically strutted by the game, throwing a thumb at the prize tiger he carried.

Past the darts and balloons and the ducks in the wading pool, Peter found himself distracted by a quiet, dimly-lit tent. A handful of votive candles partially lined a makeshift walkway, leading to the tent's entrance. At one side stood an easel, holding a neatly-written, handmade sign that boasted of predictions in love, success and money…and all for only 25¢!

Not one to pass up a bargain, Peter fished a quarter from his pocket and released Shug's hand. She looked stunned.

"Where ya goin'?"

He pointed excitedly to the purple tent. "I'm gonna find out if we ever get famous. See? 'Fortunes told. Palms read.'"

The lanky girl sighed and shook her head in disapproval. "Pete, honey, I hate to break it to you, but fortunetelling is a racket, too. They ask you some questions, you answer 'em and from that, they come up with some _magic_ reading on your supposed future." She kept her eyes locked on his. "It's like the Tooth Fairy. It's not real."

"But…" His bottom lip stuck out in a disappointed pout. He remembered when Mike had explained that whole Tooth Fairy thing to him and he still had trouble believing it. Compared to everything their group had been through, there were far stranger, less believable things they had experienced than a sprite with a dental fixation. His girlfriend was possibly one of the most unbelievable of those things. "It's only a quarter," he whined.

"That's a load of laundry at April's," Shug replied pointedly.

Peter looked at the coin in his hand, already warm from him holding onto it so tightly. Whether or not the predictions were genuine, maybe they would be positive enough that he could help make them a reality? "But Merrabeeeeth…"

Sugar sighed. "I hate it when you get that look on your face. Breaks my heart every time." She smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. "Okay, go get your fortune. I'll hold the kitty."

Passing the stuffed tiger to Shug, Peter grinned and bounced in excitement. "Thanks, Sugarbear!" He quickly kissed her before skipping toward the small tent.

As he lifted the fabric panels at the entrance way, Peter was immediately hit with the scent of cheap incense, along with a hint of something else… Was that hamburger or corn dog? Whatever it was, it didn't mix well with the overly floral smell that filled the place. In an effort to keep from tossing the funnel cake he had eaten earlier, he made sure to breathe through his mouth instead of his nose. It helped, but only slightly. No one should ever be able to taste the air.

Through his moccasins, he could feel a difference in the ground beneath his feet. The floor of the tent was layered with pieces of old Persian area rugs, some still sporting their "SAMPLE ONLY" tags in the corner. The top-most perimeter was lined with Christmas lights, some blinking, some burning steadily.

In the center of it all was a small, round table, draped in scarves and fabric remnants, complete with an illuminated crystal ball on top. Peter spied the electrical cord sticking out from the base of the sphere, which was plugged into a longer, orange extension cable that trailed across the floor and out from under the tent, most likely siphoning power from the game booth next door. That guy with the plastic ducks wouldn't be happy about that.

The more Peter looked at his surroundings, the more he knew Sugar was right. At least the Tooth Fairy had been more believable. His lost teeth were always gone the next morning, replaced with shiny new coins.

A ragged voice called from the opposite edge of the tent, startling the boy. "Do you seek your fortune, young fellow?"

So disarmed was Peter that he nearly dropped that quarter to which he clung so tightly. "I…well, that is…uh…" He hovered near the tent's entrance. "Maybe I should be going now."

"Don't be silly," the older woman cooed softly as she stepped into the light. She waved at Peter, beckoning him to come closer. "You are frightened. That is understandable. The idea of the future can be daunting."

Peter cocked his head sideways, confused. "Dawn…? Dawn-ting?"

"That means it can be scary, kid," she snapped, voice still sounding old, but suddenly lacking the thick, foreign accent. She plopped down onto a stool on the back side of the table. "Now, do you want your fortune or don't ya?"

The boy bit his lip, considering the coin in his grasp. It was all for show, this gypsy fortuneteller and her bargain crystal ball, so even if it was fake, maybe it could still be fun. That's what this entire date was about, wasn't it? He and Sugar had a night off and were out to have some fun.

Peter passed the quarter to the old woman, dropping it into her palm as he took a seat across from her. She smiled, a handful of yellowed, snaggled teeth visible in the dim light around her.

"Let me see your hand, dear," she instructed, accent returning to her voice. Peter obeyed, holding out his right hand, palm facing upward. The gypsy trailed a long nail down the center of his hand, resulting in Peter giggling. She paused and raised an eyebrow. "You find this amusing?"

"Oh no no," the boy defended. "It just tickles." It really did.

"Lady Magda hasn't the time for foolishness such as tickling," the old woman groused as she resumed her inspection of Peter's palm. She peered at the lines in his skin, pausing as she ran her hand over his calloused fingertips. "You are a musician?"

Peter nodded happily. "Yes, ma'am."

Holding her opposite hand to her temple, Lady Magda closed her eyes and began humming incoherently. "I see…I see you have friends in a band…"

"That's right!" Peter chimed. "We're the Monkees. You may not have heard of us, though."

"Monkees, you say?" The gypsy cracked open an eye, giving the boy an odd glare. "I know of these…Monkees."

"Really? That's terrific!" Peter was so excited, he nearly toppled off his seat. "Maybe that means we're finally getting someplace if people have heard of us!"

The old woman waved her fingers over Peter's hand, then his head, before resting them against his forehead. "Mmmnnnn… Yes, yes! There is a bright future ahead for you and your friends! I can see it!"

"Eeee!"

"SILENCE!" Magda placed her hand over Peter's mouth, shushing him instantly. "While your friends are important to you, you are here for _your_ reading. _Your_ future." She withdrew her hand, again waving it over Peter's as she intently studied his palm. "Ah, you lucky boy, there is a beautiful woman waiting for you…"

"Oh, I know that," the boy laughed. "She's right outside the tent."

The grin on Magda's face fell so suddenly, Peter was surprised it didn't hit the table. "Are you kidding me?" Funny, the accent fell off again, too. "Tell me something—Are you happy?"

Peter blinked, taken aback by the sudden line of questioning. "You're the fortuneteller. Aren't you supposed to tell _me_ that?"

"Nobody likes a wisenheimer, kid." Magda dropped the blond's hand and angrily crossed her arms over her chest in a tangle of shawls and pop metal medallions. "You come in here, you give me your quarter and all you have to do is play along. You think I like doing this?"

"Well…I…um… Maybe a little?" Peter sank in his seat.

"I don't like it a damned bit," the gypsy barked, smacking her hands against the tabletop. She hit it so hard, the light-up crystal ball flickered a moment. "But you know what? It's the best I can do, thanks to kids like you. You and your insipid little rock bands. Nothing but a bunch of noise, if you ask me. I can't even get a decent score during carnival season!"

"Gosh, ma'am. I didn't know…" Peter stammered. He extended a friendly hand toward the old woman, only to have it smacked away harshly.

Magda stood from her seat, hands on her hips, and gave Peter such a look, it sent shivers down his spine. "So tell me, Monkee. Are you happy? Are you really, truly happy?"

Peter cowered, arms folded around himself. This was proving to be one heck of a mistake. He didn't mean to make the old woman mad. He couldn't even figure out how he had managed such a thing.

"Are you gonna answer me or are you gonna stare all night?"

He threw his arms over his head. "Yes, ma'am, I'm very happy, thank you," he squeaked, absolutely terrified.

Magda waved her hands, then thrust them at Peter, fingers extended. "Let's see how you manage when that happiness is taken away!"

Peter yelped, falling over backwards onto the dusty rug scraps. He scrambled to his feet and dashed out of the tent as fast as he could, hoping that Sugar was where he had left her moments earlier. Thankfully, she was. He threw his arms around her and hugged her as tightly as he could.

"Pete?" Shug laughed, but it quickly faded. "You're shivering. What's wrong?"

"I think I just got cursed," the boy whimpered. He chanced a look back at the tent, then quickly hid his face in her shoulder. "I made the gypsy lady mad."

Sugar held him close, giving him a few good, firm pats on the back. "Now, how on earth did you do that? You're too nice a guy to make anybody mad."

"I'm happy," Peter sighed. "I'm happy and she didn't like that. So she cursed me."

Leaning back, Shug looked sternly into Peter's eyes. "There's no such thing as a gypsy curse. She's just a very angry, old woman who's sorry she couldn't bilk you for more money." Again, she hugged him. "C'mon, I think you've had enough carnival for one night. Got in a few good rides, got a tiger and you've probably got a bellyache on top of all that." She curled her fingers around his and and tugged at his hand. "How 'bout we go home?"

Curses were silly things to believe, Peter told himself. Maybe the old woman was jealous of _anyone_ happier than she was. Feeling Sugar's hand in his made him feel better, though. It was reassuring. While they were still sort of a new couple, they already had a long history together and a solid friendship. There wasn't a thing he could think of that could possibly ruin that.

* * *

There's more of course, but you guys gotta wait. :)


	2. Chapter 2

Gentlemanly as ever, Peter made sure to open the door first for Sugar once the two of them made it back to the Pad. They were greeted with smiles from their other three friends.

"Soooo," Micky beamed mischievously, "how was date night?" He waggled his eyebrows at Peter, who merely shrugged and gave a sheepish grin.

"Sugar won me a kitty," he replied quietly, holding the stuffed tiger aloft.

A chorus of "aww" came from the boys. Davy gave Shug a wink. "Nicely done, luv."

"Pfft, I just know the trick to it is all." Shug took a seat on the couch and Peter wasn't far behind. She took the stuffed animal from him and looked at it, giggling. "Not bad, y'know, since I throw like a girl."

"Now, Sugar, you've got an unfair advantage and you know it," Mike said pointedly.

"The carnies ain't gotta know that." She set the tiger halfway across her own lap and Peter's, then propped her head on his shoulder. "Not a bad night, really. We had fun."

Peter leaned his head against hers and closed his eyes. It felt good to be home. He'd had his fill of carnival barkers, ride attendants and game runners for one season. The uneasy niggling in his stomach reminded him that he'd had more than enough of other things, too.

But curses weren't real things. Sugar had said so. That gypsy lady was only pretending to tell fortunes for some extra money and was mad because it hadn't worked out like she planned. That was all.

The sickening, burning sensation in his belly begged to differ.

Peter sat up, groaning, hands clutched against his stomach. He was sure he would throw up.

"Hey, you alright?" Davy leaned down close to Peter's face and placed a hand against his forehead. "You're a bit warm."

"I knew that extra funnel cake was a bad idea," Shug said with a sigh. "Chewin' usually helps, Pete."

"It's not that," the boy muttered through clenched teeth. "Something's wrong. Something's _really_ wrong." The lurching in his tum was getting worse and spreading out. He could feel it all over his body, crawling through his veins and leaving behind fiery trails.

He felt Sugar take his hand, then she gasped and let go. "We better get you to a hospital! You're all swollen!"

"Huh?" Peter took a look at his own hands and sure enough, they were swelling fast, as were his arms. "Oh God." His clothes were beginning to feel more restricting, while the string of beads around his neck became tighter.

Davy grabbed him by the shoulders, looking him firmly in the eye. "Quick—What are you allergic to? Can you think of anything?"

Peter shook his head. As far as he knew, there wasn't a thing he was allergic to aside from pollen during hay fever season and it was long past that. He certainly didn't remember ever puffing up during the spring, either. This was new and strange and just plain terrible.

"Dang, he's not slowin' down, is he?" Mike called from across the room. "I'll get the car if you guys think we can get him in it."

"We can put him in the back seat," Micky added. "He'll be comfortable back there."

There was a panicked shuffling of shoes on the beaten floor, followed by the door swinging open and creaking on its hinges. Seconds later, the engine of the Pontiac roared to life outside, rumbling loudly in the still night air. Peter tried his best to focus on the noise. Anything to distract him from the pain in his limbs. He swore he could hear his blood rushing through his head and brother, was it ever loud. Even worse were the seams of his pants and his shirt cutting into his skin; his homemade necklace finally snapped, sending brightly colored beads in all directions.

"It's the curse," he whined. "It has to be."

Micky stooped over the back of the couch. "Curse? What's this about a curse?"

"Peter saw a phony gypsy lady and she got upset with him," Sugar explained. "He thinks he got cursed."

_Pop._

_Pop-pop-pop._

The stitches on Peter's clothes finally gave way and the garments split apart at the seams, revealing tufts of…was that hair? No, it was _fur_. Thick, dark blond fur. He wanted so badly to cry for help, but he couldn't. The aching in his jaw was too much. It wasn't as much the swelling anymore, as it was his entire face feeling like it was being crushed and rewritten. The pain traveled to his arms and his back, causing him to collapse in a heap in front of the couch. He crouched against the floor, grunting and heaving sobs while he felt like his back was being split open. The voices of his friends faded, drummed out by the cracks and pops of bones bending in ways that were far from natural.

After what felt like hours of suffering crammed into only a few minutes, the pain began to fade, graciously allowing Peter the luxury of being able to breathe and possibly stand on his own again.

He couldn't.

Once more, he attempted to stand. Again, he toppled to the floor. He found himself gaping at what looked like two giant furry paws, each with claws and a smattering of mismatched scales.

"You…You said curses aren't real," he whimpered.

"Oh, Peter," Sugar muttered, worry evident in her voice. "Peter, I had no idea."

The silence in the house was unnerving. It was interrupted briefly by the sound of feet running through the front door, then stumbling to a halt. He could hear the car's motor still running outside.

"We're, uh, not gonna need that hospital trip, Mike," Micky said, voice thick with trepidation. "The emergency room can't do anything for…uh… Geez, Pete, what _are_ you right now?"

"_What?_" Peter rolled the word around in his head a moment, pondering the way Micky had used it. He wasn't a "what", he was a "who". At least he was sure he was a "who" when he woke up that morning.

Peter wiggled his fingers. The clawed paws in front of him waved awkwardly. As he moved to look at his feet, he couldn't help noting that his head felt strangely heavier. His movements felt slower and lumbering. Upon looking back at himself, he understood why. Where he should have seen human hips and legs, there were massive haunches, covered in deep green scales, though plenty of blond fur, matching his hair, grew in large patches all over his body. It faded into a downy coat down the edges of his new reptilian skin, save for larger segments of gold scales that seemed to be in just the right areas for protection along his legs and arms. Much paler green and purple feathers were just out of his direct line of sight and as he strained to focus on them, wings came into view, tugging at the muscles in his back. He felt something wiggling at the base of his spine and, sighing miserably, could only assume it was a tail.

Remaining on all fours, he tried his best to take a step forward. It felt wrong. Everything about it felt distant and numb, like his legs sometimes did when he sat with them folded under him for too long. As he tried to coordinate his feet with his hands-paws?-his right arm betrayed him and slipped on the worn-out floor rug, leaving him to stumble face-first into their old coffee table. Peter had expected the little piece of furniture to break his fall. Instead, it splintered on impact, and he crashed to the floor, rattling the too-sharp teeth in his mouth.

Stunned silence hung in the air. At last, Sugar was the first to say anything. "Peter? Are you hurt?"

There was a knot in his throat and it grew and grew until it had migrated right behind his eyes, forcing wet warmth from them. He curled into a ball, a very large one at that, keeping his back to his friends. Peter gritted his new fangs and, scrunching his eyes shut, began to cry.

Over his sobs, he could hear the GTO's engine shut down and the front door lock being engaged. He didn't want to open his eyes for fear of disapproving, frightened looks surrounding him. He could already feel them staring at him. What he didn't expect was someone patting the cold wet trails on his face. Peter cracked open an eye to find Sugar kneeling in front of him, worn beach towel in hand.

"We'll fix you. I promise we will," she coaxed, running fingers along his snout.

Peter reasoned it had to be a snout since it felt much too large to be his nose anymore.

"I must be really ugly and scary-looking," he whimpered. For everything about him that had changed, he was oddly thankful that his voice had remained intact.

"We're all still here," Shug answered kindly. "We just don't know…what to _do_ with you right now."

Peter felt her fingers tracing outlines in his fur. It was nice, calming.

"I've heard of werewolf curses, vampire curses, mummy curses…" Micky paced a path along Peter's right side, arms folded. He contorted his face and wrinkled his snub-nose in what had to be deep concentration. "There's some weird stuff that went down in mythology, but I've never heard of a gypsy curse like this. Usually, it's stuff like 'beware a bird in your house' or 'don't put your hat on the bed'."

"What happens if you put yer hat on th' bed?" Mike interrupted, curious.

"Eh, I dunno," Micky grumbled, waving a dismissive hand. "I think it means someone dies or somethin'."

"…I'll be right back."

Micky took a seat beside Shug, carefully putting a hand on top of Peter's head. "Man, you're _big_. Like baby dino big."

"I'm sorry, guys. I really am." Peter's wings instinctively folded against his back, forming a feathery and scaly shield. His poor tail, however, didn't seem to want to settle, as it continued its rhythmic dance back and forth.

"I guess we should've known not to trust a gypsy, based on prior experience an' all." Sugar sighed, resting her head against the creature's muzzle. She dabbed the towel at his cheek again. "At least they let us keep you this time." Micky nodded in agreement.

The scuffing of Mike's boots against the floor echoed through the Pad as he made his way from the bedroom across the kitchen. They stopped abruptly…as a low hissing noise could be heard. "Hey, Peter? You might wanna turn around, but do it slowly."

"Don't bother with that," Davy squeaked, his voice wavering. "Just stay where you are, yeah? I'll be…ah…um…I…. Oo!" There was the sound of shoes against the floor again, only this time they scrambled toward the safety of the downstairs bedroom. Judging by the slamming door, Peter could only assume that Davy had locked himself in there, afraid of the beast parked in the living room floor.

The mismatched creature raised his head and glanced back at Mike. "He doesn't think I'll eat him, does he? It's still me."

Mike stood frozen, his eyes were wide, darting between Peter's face and that endlessly wiggling new tail. "I don't think that's it, Shotgun. Have you seen your tail?"

What a strange question. The very _idea_ of a tail was a new concept for Peter. People did not have tails. They may have had them once, but somewhere along the way, they had vanished. Currently, however, Peter was not really outwardly a person and that twitching near his hindquarters meant that he _must_ have grown a tail, though he had not bothered with looking back past his wings to see it. Trying to simply comprehend what kind of thing he had become was enough worry for the time being.

"Peter, your tail. Can you tell it to settle down or something?" the Texan insisted.

"Settle down?" Curious, he at last stretched and turned so that he could see his back haunches. His wings remained in the way, though with enough focus, he found he was able to move them. Fur trailed down his spine, fading halfway down the length of his new appendage, which seemed to be a pale purple, almost lavender. It had small fins on either side, plus what looked like an impressive set of spiky feathers near the end.

Then it turned and hissed at him.

Tails were not supposed to hiss, nor were they typically equipped with beady eyes and sharp fangs. A wave of absolute terror washed over Peter and he fought with his own body to get out of the path of the snake-like beastie that was right behind him, yet he couldn't get away from it. There was no way; it was attached! All he could do was scream and clumsily plod around in circles, while the finned serpent continued to hiss and squeak at him as he bounced around the living room.

Sugar managed to take refuge in the bathroom; Micky rolled in the opposite direction and began crawling away from the noisy, winged creature. Peter's cries slipped from petrified human to frightened animal and it seemed that the more he tried to escape the slithery thing following him, the more upset they both became. His claws slid across the floor, half rolling on the stray love beads. In his panic, Peter stopped in front of Micky, opened his mouth and…flames spewed forth, catching the drummer's curly mop alight before trampling over two mismatched dining chairs, reducing them to scrap wood.

"MIIIIIIIKE!" Micky pawed at his head in a weak attempt to snuff out the flames. Mike was quick to snatch up the towel Shug had used earlier and threw it on his friend's head, patting him until he was safely extinguished.

"Peter, calm down!" he shrieked, still waving smoke away from Micky's head.

The beast collapsed onto his back and huddled against the jukebox. His chest heaved in rapid breaths, close to hyperventilation, and he wiped at his face with a fuzzy paw. He couldn't take his eyes off the snake as it bobbed in front of him, feathery crest erect and fins outstretched to their full span.

"Mike, it's a snake," Peter sniffled. "Why is it a snake?"

The odd critter narrowed its eyes and cocked its head at him. "Beee?"

"Don't bite me, okay? Please?"

The bathroom door creaked open and Sugar peeked around the corner before crawling back toward Peter. Her movements were slow and deliberate, lest she disturb the smaller reptile. She crouched against Peter's shoulder, taking shelter under one of his wings as she made further observation of this more than unusual situation. "That's one nasty curse," she whispered.

The snake reared back and hissed at her with all the anger it could muster. That struck something inside Peter and he threw a protective arm in front of the girl; he gave the serpent a stern frown.

"No! You are a bad tail! You do _not_ hiss at Sugar," he scolded fiercely. "She is our friend." His wing curled around her, cocoon-like. "She is our _best_ friend."

"Hnnn," the snake hummed, still bobbing, but looking more curious. It slithered toward Shug, lowering its reptilian hackles as it did so before taking pause and tasting the air.

Peter carefully placed a clawed paw on the floor behind his girlfriend, all while keeping solid eye contact with the smaller, fanged animal. The snake seemed to understand this, gave a nod, then edged close enough that its snout nearly touched Sugar's hands. A little forked tongue slipped out of its mouth and gave the barest touch to Shug's knuckles, then it pulled away, lowering its fins. It eyed Peter a moment before looking befuddled at their unfortunate connecting point.

"I'm afraid we're stuck together for a while," Peter offered kindly. "I'm sorry."

The serpent's eyes widened and it flexed its spines again. "Beee." It slithered toward Peter's paw, head down, and nuzzled at the newly-formed beast's palm. Peter was cautious at first, but soon relaxed, petting the scaly creature and scratching at its chin with a clawed finger. If it could have purred, he was sure it would have.

Still coddling the snake's head, Peter caught a glint of the full-length mirror across the way, just at the edge of the kitchen. His eyes were drawn to it and as they focused, a surge of nausea began brewing in his stomach. The only thing that remotely resembled him, the form that he had known all his life, was the slight mop of blond hair that hung over his eyes. His paws wandered to his face, tracing the new line of his jaw, which was quite a bit stronger with an underbite that boasted two very large lower tusks and a spiny beard. The large, wide fins that now made up his ears were next, twitching and wiggling as Peter felt over them before his paws reached his new horns, twisted and as gold as his claws and various patches of scales. He gasped and sniffled and smoke trailed out of his nostrils.

"I'm a monster." Peter broke his gaze at his reflection, again looking at himself and shaking his head over and over. "She made me a monster." He pushed himself onto all fours; his head hung in shame and he plodded toward the mirror.

"You're not a monster," Sugar called after him. "Don't worry, okay? We'll find a way to fix you."

"Yeah," Mike added. "We'll figure it out. We don't have a gypsy, but we've got a scientist, so there's hope, right?"

Micky's voice was muffled, his head still under the towel. "Mike, I don't wanna make it worse."

"You're not a monster, Peter," Shug persisted.

He couldn't see it any other way, though, not when a scale-covered _thing_ was staring back at him. Upon closer examination, he realized that the curse had managed to transfer a few more of his human traits over to this new shape, the most noticeable beyond his hair being his freckles. They showed up in yellow patches amid the markings on his scales. His stomach churned mercilessly, and he forced back the sickness, swallowing the smoke seeping up his throat. He lowered his head again and leaned it against the looking glass. If he could just collect his thoughts…

_*tink*_

Peter's head snapped up at the sound. Before him in the once pristine mirror was a crack. A crack that he had put there with the big, stupid horns on his big, stupid head. It spread like a spiderweb, leaving the mirror entirely useless.

The beast stomped his front paws and held back a scream, merely whimpering, then grabbed at his hair, giving it a good, hard yank. Before his tears had a chance to get any worse, Peter made a dash for the back door, butting it open and squeezing through to make his way down the stairs. Once he reached the bottom, he slid beneath the deck and curled against the rock face under the house, further sheltering himself with his wings. He settled into the sand, allowing the serpent that was now his tail to adjust to its surroundings yet again, then buried his snout into his paws and cried until his eyes ran dry and his face ached.


End file.
